Rise Above
by imagine131
Summary: The battle is over, the war is won, but its devastation is everywhere. Everyone is struggling to rebuild their lives, among them the Weasley's and the trio. Will they be able to pull together? And is love really the strongest magic?
1. 1: The Burrow Had Changed

**Well hello! All thought I was done with fanfiction, eh? Well, I did too. But, I'm bored and I'm having trouble writing my real world project, so I decided to dish out some Harry Potter. Call it's writer's stress relief. Anyways, I don't really expect to update this too too often. In fact, I don't really have a plan for it. But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.**

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><p>The Burrow had changed since the war. Not so much physically. The levels of the Weasley household still rose in one haphazard tower over their fields and gardens. There was still a peaceful paddock up the hill. Even the collection of rubber boots by the door had remained the same. Yet the Burrow had changed since the war.<p>

It had only been a month since Harry Potter came through for the world and defeated the Dark Lord once and for all. People everywhere celebrated this. Even muggles, ignorant though they were, knew that things were getting better. Normally the Burrow would have been a sort of epicenter for the festivities. After all, that family had every right to rejoice as raucously as they pleased. But the Burrow had changed since the war.

Rather than the usual clamor of its many occupants, the building remained in a frightening hush. In fact, fewer people resided in the house after the war. Perhaps that was the cause for the silence. Perhaps the deaths of so many loved ones, including a Weasley boy, had taken the sound right out of the family's throats. Perhaps absence was the reason that the Burrow had changed since the war.

Even if the mourning witches and wizards had wanted to party, or even really interact as normal, they couldn't have. Sheer exhaustion claimed each and every one of them. It had been such a long and grueling battle, both literally and metaphorically. Literally, the Final Battle of Hogwarts had tested each and every participant to push past their limits. Beyond that, the war itself had been tiresome. Nobody had really grasped the fact that they could once again breathe in peace just yet. Maybe the overall fatigue was the reason that the Burrow had changed.

In reality, though, the Burrow wasn't what changed.

The world changed.

An owl arrived one morning, carrying a message from Professor McGonagall. This letter came in the form as a note from the Headmistress of Hogwarts rather than a fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix. The parchment explained that, due to the damage to the school and the loss of so many, Hogwarts would not reopen on September 1st. However, due to the lack of actual learning the previous term, courses would be held during the year for the students to catch up and prepare for Hogwarts' return the following year. These classes were to be held sporadically throughout the year and would end with an exam at the beginning of next summer to determine whether the students were ready to move on. Those who did not sign up for Hogwarts' unofficial school year or who failed the exam at the end would be held back next September.

Mrs. Weasley, who had received this letter while feverishly and rather unnecessarily scrubbing the kitchen table, called down her two youngest children. The hero and unofficial seventh Weasley boy, Harry Potter, was also invited to this meeting, though he did not attend. Much like the solo twin, George, Harry had rarely left his bed in the month or so since he first entered it. That was how they coped. The others were all different: Mrs. Weasley cooked and clean with an inexhaustible fervor; Mr. Weasley and Percy spent every moment they could at the Ministry; Ron devoted himself completely to Hermione, even when she wasn't physically at the Burrow; Ginny often disappeared from the house to walk to town or fly around the paddock.

"What's up, Mum?" the red-haired girl asked as she entered the kitchen. Her hair was windblown and her cheeks flushed a pale pink. Ron entered behind her with dead eyes. These days, they only lit up when he was with or at least talking to his brilliant girlfriend.

"A Hogwarts letter came today," Mrs. Weasley explained, pointing to the object in question. Mrs. Weasley's voice seemed to hold no emotion at all and she spoke quietly. "They're not opening this year."

Her children had expected this. Having been there for the end, they'd seen the massive damage the castle had taken. The staff and student body had taken a hit as well, not to mention that nobody was mentally and emotionally stable enough yet to go back to school. A year off was the best decision.

"However," Mrs. Weasley continued, "they are offering make-up classes during this year to prepare for next term. I'm not forcing either of you into anything, but I want you to think about it."

Ron nodded and rushed off, probably to write a letter to Hermione about the situation. Ginny, however, remained. She picked up the letter her mother had left on the table as Mrs. Weasley busied herself with preparing a dinner that nobody would eat. After perusing the letter for its terms and conditions, Ginny also left and began climbing the stairs.

_Just do it,_ she thought to herself. She stood hesitantly on the landing, staring at the door with its peeling paint and plaque declaring it to be "Ronald's Room." Sighing, she pushed open the door with determination. The remaining pieces of her broken heart tore up a little more at the sight.

Harry lay flat on his back, staring at the sloping ceiling as though transfixed by it. As Ginny approached, she noted that he barely blinked his emerald green eyes. And though the color of his irises was deep, the emotion in them was anything but. Harry's eyes, much like Ron's, had an empty, unfeeling appearance. His untidy black hair had grown out so that he needed to brush it out of his eyes to see and dark scruff covered his pale skin. He didn't even flinch at Ginny's arrival, nor when she perched herself cautiously on the edge of the bed. She sat silently for several minutes before speaking.

"Hogwarts isn't opening this year," she finally said. "Not officially, anyway. They're holding classes this year as a sort of make-up for last year. I'm thinking about signing up." Though Harry didn't look at her, she somehow knew that she had his full attention. So she kept rambling on. "Last year doesn't count, see. If I don't take these classes, I'll have to repeat my sixth year. It makes sense of course; all I learned last year was that the Cruciatus Curse bloody well hurts." She winced slightly at this memory. Her shudder caused Harry to stir. His hand instinctively twitched toward hers, and though they didn't make contact, the action didn't go unnoticed. _It's a start_. "And anyway, if I do this, we'll be seventh years together next year when Hogwarts reopens for real. You and me, and Ron and Hermione. That'd be fun, eh? Ron's run off to talk to Hermione about it, so I guess we'll find out in the next few days. Well, I guess I ought to go. Mum'll have dinner ready soon, I'm sure."

She paused in the doorway before she left, hoping to hear Harry's voice. No response came. Still, she knew that she had had some effect on him. The encounter had definitely affected _her,_ though she berated herself for those thoughts with every step she took. _My brother and many of my friends are dead, and I'm only thinking about my relationship with Harry, _she thought bitterly, thudding down the wooden stairs to the ground level of the Burrow.

"Hi Ginny," a voice said. A familiar, but unexpected voice. Ginny looked up to see her bushy-haired best friend giving her a sad smile from the living room.

"Hermione," Ginny stated in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I got the Hogwarts letter as well, so I Apparated here to talk to you guys about it," the brunette explained.

"That ruddy owl I sent will be confused when he can't find you," Ron commented. Hermione gave a smirk and Ginny let out a chuckle. She was happy to hear her brother make a joke.

Ginny was also happy that Hermione was there, as she was the exact person that Ginny knew she could speak to without fear of judgment and get sound advice. Their conversation had to wait until after dinner, however. Ginny had been right when she spoke to Harry and it wasn't long before Mrs. Weasley was announcing dinner. The four of them were the only ones to sit at the table, and only Hermione, Ron, and Ginny ate anything at all.

"Hermione, dear, are you staying the night?" Mrs. Weasley asked as the younger ones picked at their food.

"Not tonight, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione answered. Ron looked rather crestfallen at this bit of information. "I'd like to get back and spend time with my parents, now that I have them back."

"Of course," Mrs. Weasley agreed. Before she left, however, and before Ron had a chance to steal her, Ginny asked her if they could talk. Though confused, Hermione followed Ginny to the bedroom they often shared.

"What's wrong?" she asked as soon as the door was shut. Ginny sat on her bed and leaned forward, resting her forehead on the palms of her hands. Hermione sat beside her friend.

"I'm a horrible person," Ginny admitted. Sensing Hermione's bewildered expression, she continued her speech without waiting for a response. "The Wizarding World is in shambles, Hogwarts is so badly damaged that they can't even open, so many people have died, including my own brother, and I've been worrying about my relationship with Harry. I've been wondering where we are, now that he's done what he needed to do. He broke up with me, but I know he didn't want to. And then he kissed me last summer. But now he just lies in bed and doesn't move or speak, and I don't know where that leaves us, and I am a horrible person for being concerned about such things when everyone else is walking around in a pitiful depression. I'm sad, too, you know, don't get me wrong. But I think about Harry all the time. All the time, Hermione. What's wrong with me?"

Hermione had listened quietly to this rushed confession with patience. Now that Ginny had stopped speaking and was instead breathing deeply, Hermione moved closer, gingerly rubbing the younger girl's back. She leaned forward and tilted her head so that she could see Ginny's face as she replied.

"There is nothing wrong with you," she said firmly yet softly. "You love Harry. There's nothing wrong with that. Hell, love is what saved the world. Literally."

"I went in and talked to him today," Ginny continued. She sat up a little so she could look at Hermione. She searched for her true thoughts, in case the words she spoke were nothing more than a friend's words of comfort. She found no hidden opinions, however. "I just rambled a bit. He didn't say anything, didn't even really acknowledge me. Except…except at one point, his hand sort of twitched like he was going to hold mine." Hermione's surprise was evident; at some point or another, they had all tried to talk to Harry. No one had been successful in receiving any sort of reaction. Hermione smiled.

"Ginny, did Ron tell you about our first kiss?" she asked. Puzzled, Ginny shook her head. "It was during the battle. In the middle of fighting, when people were literally laying down their lives or getting seriously hurt, I was kissing Ron Weasley. But you know what? It's that kiss and my relationship with him that keeps me going. It's what keeps him going." Hermione stood up to leave and kissed the top of Ginny's fiery red hair. She had only taken a few steps before she turned back around. "I think you should keep talking to Harry, Gin."


	2. 2: Harry Potter Was A Hero

**Another upload, jeez. And I'm bored, so I'll probably keep writing. Anyways, enjoy and please review to let me know what you think!**

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><p>Harry Potter was a hero. Around the world, he was celebrated. He was thanked. He was praised. His name would go down in history so that every witch and wizard to ever live would know it. Practically since birth he had been faced with evil and he had come out on top every time. Harry Potter was a hero.<p>

But Harry Potter didn't feel like a hero. He felt much like an Inferi, dead but alive. Movement was a thought that seemed laughable, if Harry thought that he still had the ability to laugh, so he lay still. Day after day, he lay still. As he stared at the ceiling, his mind played images before his eyes as if the sloped roof was a projection screen. Day after day, he lay still and watched the things that supposedly made Harry Potter a hero.

He didn't sleep. Not if he could help it, anyway. When they first returned to the Burrow after the Final Battle of Hogwarts, he, much like everyone else in the house, had collapsed onto his bed and fallen into a sort of coma. But after that long slumber, Harry tried to stay away as much as possible. The memories that plagued him during the day only intensified in his dreams. His voluntary insomnia came easier as the days wore on. He kept himself busy with thinking: he thought of his friends; he thought of his family; he thought of all the deaths and the damage; he thought of everything that people said made him a hero.

All this thinking and robotic feelings made Harry Potter believe that he was not a hero.

But he was.

One day about a month or so after the battle, Harry received a visitor. He was used to this. Everyone had tried at some point to talk to him, to coax him out of bed. They all told him what they thought he needed to hear but what he didn't want to. They promised him that nothing was his fault and they swore that he was a hero. But he heard in their voices the same tone that he imagined he would have if he ever spoke: hollow. He heard that their words were just words, and so they had no effect. Therefore, Harry didn't even flinch when the bedroom door opened and someone sat on his bed. He was, however, surprised that it was Ginny's voice that spoke to him.

"Hogwarts isn't opening this year," she told him. He didn't move, but he was listening intently to her words. "Not officially, anyway. They're holding classes this year as a sort of make-up for last year. I'm thinking about signing up. Last year doesn't count, see. If I don't take these classes, I'll have to repeat my sixth year. It makes sense of course; all I learned last year was that the Cruciatus Curse bloody well hurts." At these words, Ginny shuddered slightly. Harry's first instinct was to comfort her, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to make contact. His hand just sort of twitched towards her. "And anyway, if I do this, we'll be seventh years together next year when Hogwarts reopens for real. You and me, and Ron and Hermione. That'd be fun, eh? Ron's run off to talk to Hermione about it, so I guess we'll find out in the next few days. Well, I guess I ought to go. Mum'll have dinner ready soon, I'm sure."

And she left, hesitating in the doorway in case he said anything. He didn't. He didn't know if he could, it had been so long since he'd opened his mouth. He was sure he had forgotten how to speak, just like he seemed to forget how to interact with other humans. He thought himself a sort of monster and was afraid that the others thought of him that way as well.

But over the next week, it was made very apparent that Ginny didn't think that he was a monster. She visited him every day. She never forced him to respond and she never talked about the final battle or the war if she could avoid it. He never answered her or even looked at her when she was talking, but she still kept coming. Every day, like they had some sort of appointment.

She usually talked about nothing in particular. She'd give him some news, like she did about Hogwarts. She'd tell him about how well Ron and Hermione had been getting on. She'd comment on his appearance and joke that his eyes were redder than her hair. She'd ramble on about anything and everything, and he was secretly very grateful for it.

Harry had become somewhat dependant on these meetings. It gave him something to look forward to each day and something to think about other than Voldemort and the war. Not that those other thoughts and images hurt. He'd become used to them. It was like they had scarred him so much already, there was no more fresh flesh to hurt, no more damage to be done. But still, he knew that a scab never heals if you continue to pick at it. Ginny's visits allowed for the scars to begin to fade, for the cuts to close up a bit.

"I'm sorry I didn't come up here earlier," she apologized one day. She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. This was closest she had ever come to talking about the war and it had both of them slightly on edge. "It's just so hard. Everyone is walking around like they're not even alive, and I don't know what to do. Part of me just feels so torn apart. There are times when I can't even breathe, I feel like I need to just get out, leave. I've been flying a lot. I use your broom, I hope you don't mind. It's faster than all of ours. I just race around as fast as I can go, feeling the wind in my ears, blowing my hair. It's relaxing. I walk, too. Mum thinks I just walk to the village, but I don't. I walk everywhere. It calms me down, clears my head. Lets me think.

"But you would think," she continued, "that my thoughts would be about Fred, or Lupin, or Tonks, or anyone else. You'd think I'd be tormented like everyone else. But I'm not." She laughed bitterly at this. The sound scared Harry a little. "Hermione told me that her relationship with Ron is what keeps her going. It's definitely what keeps him going, he's completely devoted to her, obsessed even. So maybe my thoughts are like a defense mechanism. That's what I tell myself, anyway.

"I've been thinking about you," she admitted as she let out a deep breath. Harry swallowed hard. "Horrible, right? We've all just fought in a bloody war, and I'm thinking about how much I miss you." Ginny's eyes widened in surprise when she turned her head to look at him and caught him watching her. She gasped before recovering her composure. "I miss you, Harry." As she stood to leave, she touched his arm gently. He had expected it to burn. How could something so pure and wonderful touch something so horrible without leaving a bitter mark? But he felt nothing but pleasure as Ginny's warm, soft skin caressed his.

His continue to lay in still silence for several minutes after she left. He was arguing with himself, furiously debating. He missed Ginny too. He missed being able to hold her. It wasn't until she had started visiting him that his mind had strayed in that direction. And he missed his friends. Ron and Hermione were there with him through everything. And he missed his family, the Weasleys. They'd sacrificed so much for him and had still always loved him. _But, _he countered, _what if they don't love me now? What if they hate me? I'm responsible for the deaths of their son and many of their friends. I hate me. They probably do too. _

_But I miss them._


	3. 3: Surprises Come Every Day

**This chapter could be called "Peeves," because it sure gave me hell. I'm sorry it's a bit boring. The story will pick up, I promise. Hope you enjoy :)**

**_StuffSuchAsDreamsAreMadeFrom_**: Thank you for the sound advice. I'm really just playing around with this project, hopefully it'll lighten up in future chapters.****

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><p>Surprises come every day. Big or small, they always arise. Some are pleasant, some are not, and some trick us. Some make us happy but later haunt us, or vice versa. Whatever the case may be, surprises come every day.<p>

Some people welcome surprises. The thrill of the unknown, maybe. They like getting the shock of a new discovery. Others don't. Some of us need warning so that they can feel in control of the situation. Being caught off-guard could expose some weakness. But whether you're a fan or not, surprises come every day.

The most trivial matter can take someone by surprise. Perhaps they discovered a forgotten bit of money in their jeans. Perhaps their loved one sneaked up behind them, unnoticed, and startled them with a kiss on the cheek. Or perhaps it was something more important. An unexpected promotion or death, maybe. Both major and minor surprises come every day.

Even knowing this, people never expect to find a surprise.

Even if you've hoped for it.

Dinner at the Burrow was slightly busier that evening than it had been the rest of the summer. The seats around the table were filled my Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, Percy, Ron, and Ginny. None of them spoke much, excepting a polite "please" or "thank you" when deemed appropriate. They kept their heads down as they nibbled on the meal that Mrs. Weasley had spent most of the afternoon preparing. Nobody really had appetites these days, but that didn't bother the cook. She was glad for the chore and often made it ten times more difficult just to keep herself busy.

Suddenly and seemingly without provocation, the low hum of the Weasley kitchen somehow got quieter. It was an eerie silence that made the back of Ginny's neck prickle, bringing to the forefront of her mind memories better left forgotten. She looked up to see the cause of the hush and gasped. Standing on the bottom stair and gazing at them with a fair amount of fright was none other than Harry Potter.

Harry looked and felt a bit like a deer caught in the headlights as he stood watching the family watch him. He was already regretting his decision to come downstairs. Everyone was staring at him with such wide eyes. Was that fear? Or were they just surprised? Thankfully his daily savior, Ginny, stepped up.

"Hey Harry," she said casually. The eyes all snapped to her instead and Harry instantly felt a relief of pressure. It wasn't long, however, until the others turned back to him. "There's an empty seat next to me."

Without a word, Harry stepped down the remaining stair and padded barefoot to the kitchen table. His long hair fell into his bloodshot eyes as he walked and his face was being itched by the scruffy beard that was beginning to grow. He still wore his flannel pajama pants and a navy blue t-shirt, both of which were a bit big on him, having once belonged to his cousin Dudley. Harry tried to ignore the shocked glares he was receiving and sat next to Ginny.

"Thank you," he said in a low voice. It felt weird to talk again, and he sounded just as strange. But he added to his words a significant glance and Ginny felt the full effect of his gratitude. They were interrupted, however, by a sudden outburst of tears.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley wailed. She threw herself on him in a famous Mrs. Weasley hug, causing him to both tense up and struggle to breathe.

"Great, now you've made Mum cry," he heard his best mate joke. He looked over Mrs. Weasley's shoulder to see Ron grinning, despite his words. Mr. Weasley and Percy were both smirking as well.

"Mrs. Weasley, I can't breathe," Harry choked out. She stood up immediate and looked down at him, still managing to look stern through her tears.

"It's Mum to you, Harry Potter," she scolded. Harry couldn't help it—he smiled. Mrs. Weasley's tears were renewed and she hugged him again, but was a bit more careful about squeezing his windpipes the second time.

The initial reaction to Harry's reemergence died down eventually and everyone retook their seats, except for Ron, who excused himself to Apparate to Hermione to tell her the good news. Harry's doubts were washed away faster than chalk in the rain. The family's joy at seeing him again reassured him that they didn't hate him or fear him. They loved him, just as they always had and always would. _That's what family means_, Harry thought wondrously, taking in the sight of the much brighter kitchen.

After dinner had ended (that night, everybody ate more than usual), Harry went upstairs with Ginny. Ron hadn't returned yet with Hermione, so Ginny promised to give Harry a haircut. Really, she just wanted to spend some more alone time with him. Little did she know that he wanted the same thing.

"When's the last time you washed your hair?" Ginny asked, reaching up to run her fingers through his knotted black locks as they climbed the stairs.

"I haven't any idea," Harry answered honestly. "I'm pretty gross, huh?"

"I'm surprised Mum let you stay in the kitchen," Ginny retorted with lighthearted sarcasm. "It's just because you're Harry Potter. If any of us walked into the kitchen smelling the way you do, we'd have been kicked out of the house." Harry laughed, marveling as he did so at how easy it was, how easy Ginny made it. Ginny, too, was mesmerized by the sound.

"I guess I'd better shower, then," he suggested.

Harry was surprised what an effect the hot shower had. The aches that ailed him after spending over a month in bed after a hard fight were somewhat eased by the jet of hot water that pounded his skin. He felt much better when he was much cleaner. And he already looked much better as well. He studied himself carefully in the mirror that was magically fog-free. His skin was pale and sallow from his long journey. His eyes looked like tired Christmas ornaments of red and green and were surrounded by deep purple bags. The rest of his face was hidden by jet black hair. Yet he looked more alert and a bit healthier after his shower.

He found Ginny in her bedroom and she wasn't alone. Ron and Hermione had joined her by this time and were waiting, somewhat impatiently, for their best friend. Hermione rushed at him the second the door had opened, embracing him in a hug to shame Mrs. Weasley. He chuckled out a hello and wrapped an arm around her, half returning the hug and half prying her loose. Behind Hermione, whose eyes were shining with tears of joy, Ron had stood from Ginny's bed and was waiting his turn to slap Harry's back. Ginny, however, remained seated and transfixed by the sight before her. Her eyes were glued to Harry's bare torso. He hadn't bothered to put the t-shirt back on, revealing his various muscles and scars.

The group sat together for a while in Ginny's room. Hermione told Harry all about finding her parents and restoring their memories while Ron watched her admiringly and threw in compliments every once in a while. Harry loved seeing his two best friends together. It was one of the few good things to come from the war. Ginny also liked seeing her brother and her best friend so happy together, but at that moment she was just wishing they would leave. It took a while, but eventually Hermione announced that she needed to go and Ron rose to escort her.

"So how about that haircut, Potter?" Ginny reminded him. He lifted his hand absentmindedly to feel the long locks. "Before people start calling you The Girl Who Lived."

"Well that was a little uncalled for," Harry laughed as he sat in the chair Ginny designated for him. "Have you ever done this before?"

"Well…no," Ginny answered truthfully. Harry twisted quickly to stare at her. "But I've seen Mum do it loads of times. It can't be that hard."

"I'm suddenly having childhood flashbacks…" Harry mumbled. He squeezed his eyes shut as Ginny picked up a small pair of silver scissors and began cutting off Harry's lion mane of hair.

"So what made you come downstairs, anyway?" Ginny asked several minutes later. She waited until she had gotten into the groove of the haircut before trusting herself to have a conversation.

"You, actually," Harry admitted. Ginny had expected, based on his "thank you" earlier, that he would say this, but she still longed to hear it. "Everyone else talked to me like a damaged soul and tried to fix me. You talked to me just to talk. You treated me like normal, and you still do. It's made me _feel _normal, and I love you for that." Ginny froze for a split second, scissors pausing mid-cut.

"You're very welcome, Harry," she said quietly.


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